


Flecked with Grey

by InCatHoots (AlwaysTheLittleSpoon)



Series: Tokyo AU [1]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Light Angst, Loneliness, M/M, Masturbation, Oral Sex, Pining, Post-Canon, Sleepy Cuddles, Wet Dream
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-30
Updated: 2016-08-25
Packaged: 2018-07-19 04:23:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,873
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7344769
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlwaysTheLittleSpoon/pseuds/InCatHoots
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In need of a little warmth in his cold life after a devastating break-up, Akaashi discovers that his senpai is just the man for the job. But before he can be happy with someone, he needs to learn to be happy with himself.</p><p>-----</p><p>(Or, the one where it's Bokuto's turn to pick up the pieces)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Broken Wing

**Author's Note:**

> Written for my bestie wasterella because... actually, I don't remember why. Dinner, maybe?

The sharp snap of the front door echoed through the dark apartment. “Tadaima,” Akaashi called softly. He stood in the center of the genkan, bundled in a thick wool coat and fluffy black and white scarf. His messenger bag, bursting at the seams, was casually slung over his shoulder. Heavy silence echoed back at him.

Without Kaori’s cheerful greeting or the smell of dinner wafting through the hall, the tiny Tokyo apartment felt empty.

 _No_ , Akaashi had to remind himself that _it was Suzumeda now_. That chapter in his life was over.

Akaashi and Suzumeda had begun dating his last year of high school, and she had eventually followed him to university when she graduated a year later. Suzumeda’s stay was supposed to have been a temporary layover during her second year when her roommate proved too difficult a domestic partner. Eventually they had settled into a comfortable routine. Then one day, it was no longer his apartment, but their apartment.

Akaashi stepped out of his shoes and into his waiting slippers as he pulled the fleece scarf off his shoulders and hung it in the small front cupboard. It was Bokuto’s. Or had been. He’d borrowed it his first year of university when they met up to catch up over dinner - Bokuto’s treat - but when he tried to return it, Bokuto had insisted he looked cuter in it, and he should keep it. _Shouted, actually_.

Smiling a little to himself, Akaashi shuffled further into his apartment. He shrugged out of his jacket and dropped it with his bag on the small dining table. He hadn’t seen his best friend in nearly six months. Bokuto was too busy being a professional athlete.

Akaashi sighed and ran his hand through his dark hair. It was a little longer than when he was in high school, shaggy and tousled so the curly tips teased the vision of his dark grey eyes. Suzumeda had liked it that way.

The apartment was quiet - achingly so. Akaashi opened the fridge to search for dinner before he recalled that he hadn’t been shopping in a few days. He didn’t have much. There were leftovers from two days ago, but he wasn’t feeling particularly hungry.

“ _You’re too cold, Keiji.”_

Akaashi slammed the door closed. Suzumeda’s final words when she walked out four weeks ago, haunted him. Her bags had already been packed and sitting by the front door when he came home from his part-time job at a little cafe near campus, and he had let her go without a fight. Her mind had been made up, and nothing he said could have changed it.

It was still early in the evening. Only around eight o’clock, but Akaashi couldn’t find a reason to stay awake. He trudged into the bedroom and collapsed on the double wide western style bed that he had shared for the last 14 months with Suzumeda until she had walked out of his life.

Akaashi curled into a ball on top of the blankets, and within minutes, he felt his eyes beginning to close. He drifted in and out of consciousness, completely unaware of time passing until he was rudely jolted back to reality by the shrill ring of his cell phone.

Rolling onto his back, Akaashi blinked up at the ceiling for a moment before he fished his phone out of his pocket and flipped it open. Bokuto’s face grinned down and him, and a small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.

“Hey! Hey! Hey! AkaAAAAASHIIIII!” Bokuto’s voice rang through the room as soon as the call connected. Even without bringing the phone to his ear, he could hear his senpai clearly. “AKAaaaSHIIII, WE’RE GOING DRINKING TO CELEBRATE! YOU’LL COME RIGHT?”

Akaashi slowly brought the phone to his ear once Bokuto’s voice died out. “Hello, Bokuto-san,” he said, but Bokuto was off again, chattering away. Akaashi listened patiently, humming in acknowledgement at appropriate times and occasionally offering a ‘that’s good, Bokuto-san’ when the rare response was required. Bokuto regaled Akaashi with the tale of his latest win, his team, and his breakfast on the plane earlier that morning.

In his last year of University, Bokuto had been scouted by several professional teams within Japan, and even a few international. Now there was talk that he could possibly make the national team to represent Japan, and even attend the Olympics.

“So you’re coming, right?” Bokuto asked again. “I’ll meet you at the station and we’ll walk together just like old times. Kuroo is coming, and so is the old team, well, except for Onaga. He said he had to study. I tried to get him to do it tomorrow, but his group couldn’t. That’s stupid. Isn’t that stupid, Akaashi? Hinata said he might come, and maybe Tsukki. But you know how he is. You have to come Akaashi! If you don’t, the night will be ruined! Bring Suzu-chan!”

A stone settled in the pit of Akaashi’s stomach at the mention of Suzumeda, nevermind that Bokuto hadn’t even drawn breath through his entire ramble. “I have to write my final thesis,” he finally said. “Maybe ne-”

“NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO! YOU HAVE TO COME. I’ll NEVER FORGIVE YOU IF YOU ABANDON ME! AAAKAAAASHIII!”

“Bokuto-san-” Akaashi tried, but Bokuto continued to rant and plead, nearly in tears and begging for Akaashi not to throw him away like garbage. As if Akaashi would ever consider such a thing.

“I’ll come.”

“But Akaashi, you have to- wait, you’ll come? That means you’ll meet me? You’re coming? YEEEESSS!”

Akaashi could faintly hear Bokuto hooting as he celebrated, and could picture Bokuto waving his phone around as he cheered without realizing that Akaashi could no longer hear him. It took him another ten minutes to gather sufficient information from Bokuto to plan his evening before he ended the call.

It was a little after nine when Akaashi began pulling back on his winter clothes. He didn’t want to go out, but as exhausted as he was, he could use a drink. Besides, he never had been good at letting Bokuto down.

\--

Tucked under an awning of a nearby store outside the Shinjuku San-chome station, Akaashi was bundled in his warm winter jacket and scarf while he waited for Bokuto to arrive. He checked his phone. Bokuto was nineteen minutes late.

Apparently his rambunctious senpai was staying with Kuroo while he was in town for a few weeks rather than his parents in the suburbs. He was almost certain Kuroo’s roommate and bestfriend Kenma had not been consulted on that decision, though surprisingly, the skittish former-setter had a strange calming effect on Bokuto that few could fully appreciate.

“AAAkaaAAAshi!!!”

Spotting Bokuto in the crowd wasn’t difficult. The wing spiker was jumping up and down and waving his arms while he screeched Akaashi’s name.

Tucking his phone back into his pocket, Akaashi sighed as Bokuto skidded to a stop beside him with a huge grin on his face, his wide golden eyes sparkling with unfettered excitement. He hadn’t changed much. His white hair with dark roots was still styled into his signature ‘horns’ for his namesake, but his arms were thicker. He was bulkier in general; all muscle, no doubt.

Before Akaashi could open his mouth to reprimand the older man, he found himself wrapped in Bokuto’s biceps, muscles flexing, and lifted off the ground in a rib-crushing hug.

 _He’s stronger,_ Akaashi realized as the spicy scent of Bokuto’s favourite body wash filled his nose. It hadn’t changed since high school.

“Bo-bokuto-san,” Akaashi wheezed. “I can’t breathe.”

“Gah! Sorry!” Bokuto immediately set Akaashi back down on his feet and rubbed the back of his head while he laughed sheepishly. “Ready to go?”

“You’re twenty minutes late, Bokuto-san,” Akaashi said.

But instead of the usual shocked response when Akaashi called him out, Bokuto’s grin only grew wider. “You’re wearing my scarf!” he said, reaching out to touch the black and white checkered material.

Akaashi blinked. “Would you like it back?”

“What? No!” Bokuto waved him off and beamed at him. “It looks much prettier on you.”

Akaashi couldn’t help the warm flush that darkened his cheeks, and prayed he could play it off as the cold. “Where are we meeting the others?”

“Oh right! This way!” Bokuto exclaimed happily, and led Akaashi down the street in the same direction he had just come from. “It’s a cool little bar near Kuroo’s place. We found it my first night here. Took forever to convince Kenma to leave the apartment! But as soon as we mentioned you were coming, we had to chase after him. He’s fast! Didja know that?”

Falling into step with Bokuto, Akaashi stuffed his hands into the pockets of his jacket for warmth and tried not to think of the fact Bokuto had traipsed across the city in order to walk him to the bar - a bar he had likely already been sitting in with their old friends.

“Wouldn’t it have made more sense for me to have met you at the bar?” Akaashi asked.

“Eh?” Bokuto appeared genuinely surprised by this assessment. “But then I wouldn’t be able to walk with you!”

Hidden behind his scarf, Akaashi smiled.

“The bar is in Ni-chome?” Akashi confirmed a few blocks later. There could be little doubt. They had been walking less than ten minutes and already crossed into Shinjuku’s second district where they quickly turned down a crowded street lined with bars and clubs.

Ni-chome was Tokyo’s infamous gay district. It wasn’t that Akaashi was upset or put-off by the news, he was simply surprised. He had known that Kuroo and Kenma rented a cheap apartment in Ni-chome because of its close proximity to Kuroo’s university, but he hadn’t realized they frequented the establishments close by. As highly unlikely as it was, it also held a certain degree of logic considering the intimacy of their friendship. Kuroo and Kenma lived in the grey area between friends and something more, but never quite toed over the line. Unless they had. Akaashi was not privy to the intricacies of their relationship.

“Yeah! It’s like, totally cool,” Bokuto said, waving his arms excitedly. “Nobody looks at Kuroo when he calms Kenma down. You know with his anxiety and stuff, like holding hands, or hugging. Kuroo kissed Kenma. It was like, on the cheek, but still. He kissed him! Kenma was sooooo mad, but not ‘cause of that, ya know? He almost broke his game. Nii-chome is cool though. Lots of cool people. Plus, some of the guys are hot. Not as pretty as you, but-”

Bokuto continued to babble, listing the numerous benefits of Ni-chome while Akaashi hummed in response. They walked side by side. Akaashi kept his hands in his pockets to protect them against the bite of winter, but Bokuto waved his around for emphasis and flair.

A sudden realization struck Akaashi like a slap to the face. “Bokuto-san,” he said, jerking the older man out of his rambling. “You like men?”

“Ohoho! What’s not to like?” Bokuto said. He threw an arm around Akashi’s shoulders, accentuating their difference in height. Bokuto had grown a few inches since high school, but not enough to be noticeable.

Bokuto seemed to understand Akaashi needed a moment to gather his thoughts and fell uncharacteristically silent, dropping his arm back to his side while they walked. It didn’t last long. He began to fidget. First with the zipper of his jacket, and then flapping his arms when he stuffed his hands in his pockets to prevent himself from annoying Akaashi.

“Akaashi...” Bokuto said slowly.

The serious, unextended sound of his name drew Akaashi’s attention. “It’s fine, Bokuto-san,” he assured. “I am in no way disgusted by your preferences.”

“Ehhh? Really!?” Bokuto appeared both genuinely relieved and shocked by the confession. “Well, I don’t only like guys. Girls are awesome too. But we can’t all have totally cool girlfriends who understand our love of the GREATEST SPORT EVER!”

Akaashi nearly lost his footing when Bokuto clapped him on the back with more strength than he was probably aware he possessed. “Bokuto-san, you should know that Suzu-”

“Here we are!” Bokuto was already sliding open the door to a small bar with a paper lantern hanging by the entrance, and Akaashi silently trailed after him into the bar.

\--

The interior of the bar leaned toward traditional rather than modern: low hanging lamps over tables divided by shoji screens. Waitresses served drinks, and the bartender chatted amicably with the few patrons seated at the bar.

Greetings rang out as Akaashi followed Bokuto into the establishment, and he barely had time for a quick bow before Bokuto was dragging him by the arm towards the back exclaiming that they had a private room. Akaashi apologized to those Bokuto disturbed as they passed, an instinct rather reminiscent of their time together in high school.

Bokuto slid open the shoji door that led to a small private room at the back of the bar with several pairs of shoes sitting outside. The promised members of Karasuno were suspiciously absent, but Akaashi chalked that up to the distance they would be required to travel.

Seated on the tatami, along one side of the low table, were the former Fukurodani 3rd years with Washio at the head of the table, as severe looking as ever. They were already several drinks down a piece, and both Sarukui and Komi boasted a decent flush on their cheeks with Komi listing rather heavily in Konoha’s direction, who had his patented sneaky smirk on his face.

On the opposite side of the table, Kenma was unsurprisingly busy clicking away at his handheld with a cup of untouched tea in front of him, probably long cold judging by the lack of rising steam. The large hoodie he wore was much too large for his tiny frame, no doubt Kuroo’s, who sat beside him.

One arm draped around his best friend, Kuroo watched Kenma play his game over his shoulder while simultaneously carrying on a conversation with Washio and Komi. His inky black hair was as ridiculously wild as it ever was, and his free hand was curled around a half empty glass of beer.

“Bro!”

Kuroo looked up with his trademark sly grin. “Ohohoho! It’s been too long, bro.”

Akaashi caught sight of Kenma rolling his eyes at them through the fringe of his bangs, but his attention never left his game as he shrugged Kuroo off his shoulder so the older man didn’t disrupt his playing.

“I know! I know! I missed you!” Bokuto cried dramatically and clutched his chest.

“Never leave me again,” Kuroo said. He threw his arms wide and braced himself for an attack.

Bokuto didn’t disappoint. He kicked off his shoes and collapsed on the former Nekoma captain, and they clung to each other like lovers reunited after long years of separation.

“It’s been half an hour,” Kenma muttered, and the rest of Fukurodani, minus Akaashi howled with laughter.

“Kenma!” Kuroo gasped, pulling back to stare down at his best friend in mock horror while simultaneously managing to knock Bokuto over. The latter didn’t seem to mind as he rolled on the floor, still cackling madly. “How could you ever doubt the depth of our bromance?”

Ignoring the chaos, Akaashi carefully slipped out of his shoes as he greeted his old team, and squeezed past the two idiots wrestling on the floor to take a seat on Kenma’s other side.

“Kenma,” Akaashi greeted with a short nod. He tugged on a lock of Kenma’s hair. The blond had nearly grown out and only a few centimeters on the tips remained. “I like your hair.

For a brief moment, Kenma glanced up from his game and returned the nod. “Th-thank you,” he said in his usual quiet voice, simply acknowledging his existence before he re-immersed himself in his game. Akaashi hid a small smile behind his hand.

Kenma had always been easy to get along with. They had often found themselves with only each other for company during training camps when Kuroo and Bokuto were off scheming and causing mayhem. Once, Kenma had fallen asleep with his head on Akaashi’s lap and woken up to Kuroo snapping a picture of them napping together in the bleachers. Kuroo had gifted Akaashi with a copy that was now buried somewhere in one of the drawers in his apartment. He had meant to hang it up with the other pictures of their team and training camps, but when Suzumeda moved in, he had never found the time to get around to it. His apartment was oddly devoid of pictures of his friends and family.

The moment of peace passed when Konoha leaned across the table and poured Akaashi a rather generous drink. “Drink up, Akaashi,” he said. “Tonight, we’re celebrating!”

“Kanpai!” Komi shouted, and the table echoed his cheer and raised their glasses.

Akaashi quietly raised his glass and murmured his own toast to their night, somewhat unsure what they were celebrating, but he chugged his drink nonetheless.

The beer was smooth with a subtle sweetness that wasn’t off putting, and it slid down with ease. Akaashi slammed his glass on the table, and Konoha was already refilling it for him as Bokuto dropped down beside him.

“Woah. Slow down Akaashi,” Kuroo said, still laughing. He peered around Kenma at Akaashi. “How you doing? It’s been awhile. Don’t think I’ve seen you since Bo went on tour. You look tired. Final year running you ragged?”

Chugging half of his newly poured drink, Akaashi burped politely into his hand. Bokuto was staring at him, slightly open mouthed. He didn’t usually drink.

Kenma tugged on Kuroo’s sleeve until his best friend looked down at him, and he leaned in, whispering into his ear. Kuroo’s narrow eyes widened minutely, and he cleared his throat. “Ah... right. Let’s get wrecked!” he said, and pounded back his drink.

Akaashi quickly followed suit, curious about what Kenma had whispered to Kuroo, but too aware of Bokuto’s eyes on him to push. He knew Bokuto didn’t drink often. As a top athlete, Bokuto wanted to stay in peak form and had made the personal decision to refrain from heavy drinking, even going as far as to hang back at the hotel rather than join the team at bars and clubs while they were travelling. His glass looked untouched.

The drinks flowed late into the night. By midnight, Akaashi had easily caught up to his former teammates, throwing back glasses faster than anyone else at the table. Six glasses in and he was swaying where he sat and a telling flush dusted his pale cheeks. Humming to himself while he listened to the chatter around him, he leaned against Bokuto’s side, plopping his head onto his senpai’s shoulder.

Bokuto fell quiet, glancing down at him. “A-Akaashi?”

The clicking beside Akaashi stopped and the jingle of Kenma’s game fell silent. Kenma had actually paused his game and set it down on the table in front of him, which had Kuroo blinking down at him in shock.

“You okay, kitten?” Kuroo asked, leaning in to study his best friend. “Too much? Do we need to go?”

Kenma shook his head, and Kuroo relaxed, though not completely.

It took Akaashi several tries to sit up straight and grab his magically refilled glass. He suspected Washio, who appeared unnaturally sober.  “You are lucky,” he hiccuped and gestured with a lazy wave of his hand between the two friends. “You have... you have each other. You’ll al-always have each other.”

Akaashi downed his beer and held out the glass to be refilled, which Komi, a little too eagerly, complied with. Beer sloshed over the rim of the glass and onto the table. Akaashi drunk was rare, and they would be remiss to pass on such an opportunity. By now, Akaashi was extremely intoxicated, possibly more than he had ever been in their company.

“Keiji...” Kenma said softly. He gently pried the glass out of Akaashi’s hand and set it back down on the table.

Akaashi felt tired and sluggish - the copious amount of alcohol in his system no doubt - but he stared down at Kenma, unfocused and unsteady. “I’m just so lonely,” he whispered. He hated how sympathetic and understanding Kenma appeared.

 _Kenma doesn’t understand._ He couldn’t understand. Kenma had always had Kuroo. He had never been alone a day in his life, but Suzumeda had left, just walked out of Akaashi’s life, and now he was alone. Kenma had Kuroo, Bokuto was travelling the world, and his friends were scattered across Tokyo. _Night is the worst_ . _All alone in that stupid bed._ A bed he had only bought to accommodate her, and he hated it; listening to the crushing silence while missing the warmth of a body beside him. _So what if he didn’t like to cuddle. It was nice just knowing someone was there, that when he woke up, someone would be there, and he wouldn’t be alone._

“I know,” Kenma murmured, gently laying a hand on Akaashi’s knee. His large cat like eyes stared sadly up at him through his bangs. “I’m sorry. It’s not fair.”

For a moment, Akaashi blinked down at Kenma. “Did... did I say that out loud?” he wondered aloud. His suspicions were confirmed when Kenma nodded.

The table was silent. To their credit, Komi and Konoha were trying diligently to appear as if they weren’t listening, but Washio and Sarukui were outright staring. Akaashi felt pathetic, sniffling and rubbing his eyes in front of his former teammates and close friends, but he picked the glass of beer that Kenma had kindly set aside and chugged it before anyone could stop him.

Akaashi’s head lolled back onto Bokuto’s shoulder. “It just...” Akaashi hiccuped. “I don’t want to be alone.”

Someone hugged him. It took Akaashi a few seconds to realize that Bokuto had wound one of his muscular arms around his waist in a sideways hug, which may or may not have been keeping him upright. A tiny hand snuck into his and squeezed tightly, and he couldn’t help but contemplate the small sacrifice of personal space on Kenma’s part and Bokuto’s constant strength.

 _Oh, how the tables have turned._ Akaashi had always been the stable one, dragging Bokuto out of his moods, soothing Kenma’s anxieties, and listening to his teammates problems.

The last thing Akaashi remembered that evening was Bokuto’s warmth and rich scent enveloping him, and the soft, but sad murmur of his name in his ear.

\--

The bedroom was dark. The familiar ceiling of Akaashi’s bedroom swam into focus in the dim light coming through the crack in the closed curtains. Akaashi was tucked under his thick white duvet, stripped down to nothing but his boxer briefs. Through bleary eyes, he peered over to the small alarm clock on his bedside table.

_3:59_

Akaashi groaned. He was clearly home and partially naked, but he couldn’t recall how that came about. His last memories were of the bar and his embarrassing confession. Kenma had held his hand, and Bokuto...

 _Oh god..._ Usually he had better control over himself.

A soft snuffling snore startled Akaashi. He rolled over to the presence of a second body in his room and blinked several times, convinced he was hallucinating.

Fully dressed on top of the duvet, the one and only Bokuto Koutarou lay sprawled on his back, one arm flung above his head and the other stuffed up the front of his shirt, unconsciously flaunting the rippling definition of his meticulously maintained abs. There was a dab of drool clinging to the corner of his former captain’s mouth, and his hair had fallen flat. It was a sight Akaashi hadn’t beheld since high school, and was absolutely adorable.

Groggy, Akaashi wiggled closer. He reached out to curl his fingers in the loose material of Bokuto’s t-shirt, then he drifted back to sleep with the bare hint of a smile on his lips.

_So warm..._

\--

By the time the sun had reached its afternoon apex, Akaashi woke alone in bed with a pounding headache and the sheets beside him cold.

  
  
TBC


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm amazed wasterella hasn't murdered me yet for taking so long.
> 
> You can follow me on tumblr at [inCatHoots](http://incathoots.tumblr.com/)

_ By the time the sun had reached its afternoon apex, Akaashi woke alone in bed with a pounding headache and the sheets beside him cold. _

 

Akaashi swore he hadn’t been alone in bed a few short hours ago, and yet, he was shivering alone under his duvet. The empty space beside him barely looked rumpled, as if Bokuto had merely been a figment of his imagination. 

Perhaps Akaashi had finally achieved a level of drunk that allowed him to hallucinate his former captain in his bed. Pieces of his memory were missing from the night before. He couldn’t remember the trip home or where and when his clothes had magically disappeared.

_ Did I do that? _ Hopefully he hadn’t treated his friends to a strip routine. Kuroo and Konoha would never let Akaashi live it down.

Groaning, Akaashi propped himself up in bed, running a hand through his already impressively tousled hair. The crisp chill of the morning air prickled his skin as his sheets pooled around his waist. No one had turned the heat on. 

A pile of his Akaashi’s clothes from the previous night sat neatly folded on top of the dressing table.  Even Bokuto’s scarf was carefully coiled and resting atop like a crown. So he hadn’t stripped. Someone had stripped him.  _ Bokuto-san _ .

An almighty crash and clatter of a pans on the hardwood floor startled Akaashi into full consciousness. He clutched his head, cursing under his breath at the self inflicted throb that pounded against his skull. Throwing off the blankets, he crept to the door and peeked out through the crack.

In the small nook of a kitchen, with his back to the bedroom door, Bokuto juggled several bowls and measuring cups. A metal bowl that teetered at the tip of the pile slipped and the armload of bakeware crashed to the floor.

“Shhh...” Bokuto shushed a wayward bowl with a finger to lips. “‘Kaashi’s still asleep.”

Muted hooting sounded through the apartment. Tripping over the scattered pans and bowl on the floor, Bokuto scrambled across the apartment to his jacket slung over the back of the couch. The pocket was hooting.

Hidden behind the bedroom door, Akaashi clapped a hand over his mouth to muffled a small snicker as Bokuto shushed and begged his phone to be quiet.  _ He hasn’t changed. _

“Hey, hey! Bro!” Bokuto answered. He whirled around, hand over his mouth and stared wide eyed at the bedroom door.

Akaashi didn’t move. He didn’t dare breathe as Bokuto scrutinized the door.

“Yeah,” Bokuto whispered, voice cracking a little. “I’m here. ‘kaashi’s still sleeping. So I gotta be quiet.”

Easing away from the door, Akaashi took as seat on the edge of his bed while he eavesdropped on Bokuto’s phone call. A glass of water and white pill sat innocently on the little stand beside his bed. Bokuto had thoughtfully set out pain medication for his hangover.

“ _ Sorry. I was going to, but I couldn’t leave him and... huh? Oh yeah. I got him onto the train, but then I had to carry him home on my back.” _

There was a small lull in the one sided conversation. Akaashi winced.  _ So that’s how I got home. _ He popped the pill into his mouth and chased it down with a large gulp of water.

“ _ He’s really, really light! But... hey, so I was thinking-” _

_ That’s dangerous,  _ Akaashi mused. He tucked a foot up onto the edge of the bed and hugged his knee.

Apparently Kuroo had that same thought because Bokuto suddenly squawked. “ _ Bro! But seriously, Akaashi and drinking, and... and... stuff. You know! I just... he’s not doing good.” _

A stone settled in the pit of Akaashi’s stomach. He bit his lower lip and studied his duvet with a new, sudden fascination as his fingers picked at the fabric. Now Bokuto was worrying about him. That wasn’t right. Bokuto wasn’t allowed to worry about anything. It had always been Akaashi’s duty to keep Bokuto happy.

_ “That’s cause Kenma’s a secret genius.... Nuh uh. He’s all freaky. Gah! Sorry, sorry! Don’t kill me. I love Kenma. Well, not love him love him. I don’t want to sex him up like you, but- huh? But you do!” _

Akaashi flopped back on the bed and pulled a pillow onto his face to muffle his laughter. Bokuto was incredibly scatterbrained and tended go off on tangents if no one refocused his attention.

“ _ Would you be mad if I stayed here while I’m in Tokyo? He...” _ There was a pause where Akaashi wished he could hear Kuroo’s side of the conversation because there could be no doubt who he was talking to. He recognized their rhythm and banter from years of listening to their good-natured ribbing on the court.

“ _ Well, no. I haven’t asked yet, but bro. You saw him, right? He wouldn’t let me leave last night. When I woke up, he was gripping my shirt so tight I almost had to take it off to get out of bed. Bro, I don’t even... he’s hurting, and I don’t like it. I want to help.” _

Part way through Bokuto’s little rambling monologue, Akaashi had curled onto his side, still nearly nude, and hugged his pillow to his chest. It had been the one Bokuto used last night, and it smelled like him.

Forget Kenma, because Bokuto was right about his freaky mind-reading abilities, but if Bokuto, the most incredibly dense person Akaashi knew, had seen through his stony protective shield, then Akaashi wasn’t holding himself together as well as he thought. 

When Suzumeda walked out, she had left a gaping wound. Akaashi felt hollow. A shell of a human being. Filling that hole with alcohol was not the answer, but it was infinitely better than feeling nothing.

Akaashi pulled the pillow up over his head to drown out Bokuto’s voice chattering away to Kuroo in the other room. He couldn’t listen to anymore.  He shivered as the chill in the air seeped into his bones. 

_ It’s so cold. _

 

Twenty minutes after hearing Bokuto end his phone call, Akaashi finally deemed it safe to venture out of the bedroom in a pair of pajamas slung low on his hips that he had dug out of the bottom of a drawer. The muscle definition he’d acquired from years of training had slowly disappeared after he stopped playing his third year of university. 

Since then, he’d lost weight, mostly muscle mass, despite the size of his appetite on a good day. Not a significant amount of weight, but enough that it had been pointed out to him on more than one occasion. 

_ Willowy _ . That’s what Kenma had called him.

After a moment brief moment of debate, Akaashi snagged his phone off the bedside table where it had been charging and tucked it into the pocket of his pajama pants.

A sharp pain behind Akaashi’s eyes throbbed under the blinding light of the living area.  Every light in his apartment had to be on. Groaning, Akaashi rubbed his temples, trying to ease the tension. The painkillers that had been so kindly left at the bedside by Bokuto had not quite kicked in yet. Even the sound of his slippers shuffling against the floor grated on his frazzled nerves. 

Bokuto bounced around the kitchen with a mixing bowl and whisk. A pan was heating on the single burner. Bokuto must have heard Akaashi’s sedate approach because he spun around and greeted him with a huge grin. There was a dusting of flour across his cheeks, and he wore an apron Akaashi hadn’t been aware he owned. Bokuto’s hair was unstyled after a night of restless sleep, and his bangs were pinned back with little silver clips that he had certainly not found in Akaashi’s apartment. It was cute and adorable, and so strangely domestic that Akaashi pulled a double take.

“Bo-bokuto-san?”

“Hey, hey, Akaashi! Did you sleep well?” Bokuto leaned in, earnestly seeking an answer. He’s still wearing the same clothes from the night before and his cell phone is sitting on the counter by his elbow.

“I...” Akaashi had to think for a moment. That night may have been the best night rest he’d had in weeks, if not longer. “Yes. Thank you.”

Sticky batter clung to the wires of the whisk and the sides of the bowl in crook of Bokuto’s arm. “Good. I’m glad,” Bokuto said. He busied himself with mixing the batter and turned back to the empty pan on the stove. “You looked tired. Did you find the medicine I left for you? I bet your head hurts. You drank soooo much!”

While Bokuto was distracted, babbling away in the kitchen, Akaashi snuck his phone out of his pocket and opened the camera. He tip-toed closer. It took him a moment to focus the camera and adjust for the light in the apartment.

“Bokuto-san,” Akaashi called.

Bokuto spun around, beaming brightly.  _ Click. _

Akaashi studied the photo he snapped while Bokuto stuttered a protest. There was a splash of batter on Bokuto’s right cheek, the clips in his hair were fully visible, pulling back his bangs, and his eyes were bright. 

The private side of Bokuto Koutarou.  _ Beautiful. _

“That was mean,” Bokuto pouted, his entire body drooping with betrayal as he set the bowl down. “I didn’t even do my hair.”

“Exactly,” Akaashi murmured. He lowered his phone and slid it back into the safety of his pocket in fear Bokuto would attempt to delete the photo. “I won’t let anyone else see it.”

Bokuto’s mouth opened and closed no less than five times before he finally rubbed awkwardly at the back of his head and cleared his throat. “It’s cool, I guess?” he said, clearly confused by what had transpired, but the tension was short lived because his expression immediately morphed into one of curiosity. “Hey, why do you still call me that. We’re friends, right? Best friends! You’ve never called me by my first name.”

“You are my senior,” Akaashi responded. “I was raised to be respectful, and you’ve never called me by my name either.” If Bokuto had lead by example, he probably would have followed suit.

“Eh?” Bokuto scratched his cheek, smearing the batter. “I guess that’s true.” He leaned on the counter, folding his arms and leered at Akaashi. “Come on. Call me by my name,  _ Keiji.” _

A shiver ran down Akaashi’s spine. The way his name rolled off Bokuto’s tongue affected him in a way he didn’t quite understand. His fingers wound around the strap of his camera on the counter, and he swallowed down the lump forming in his throat. 

“Koutarou-san,” Akaashi managed to murmur. His cheeks were warm, and he felt dizzy. 

Bokuto collapsed on the counter. “Oh my god. My name sounds so good coming from you,” he whined. He snagged Akaashi’s hands and squeezed. “Kenma calls me by my name, but it’s not the same. Say it again, Keiji.”

“Ko-koutarou-san,” Akaashi protested weakly. The tingle of a flush on his cheeks was now a raging inferno creeping down his neck. Years of conditioning wouldn’t allow him treat Bokuto with anything less than absolute respect. As childish and silly as Bokuto was, Akaashi admired his strength and determination, so for the time being, he would continue to give Bokuto the respect he felt his senpai deserved. 

Grinning like an idiot, Bokuto returned to making breakfast while Akaashi attempted to calm the rapid pace of his heart beating in his chest. The simple act of calling Bokuto by his first name was far more intimate than he had been prepared for.

After a bit of coaxing on Bokuto’s part, Akaashi finally settled in on the couch with cup of tea and wrapped himself in a thick fleece blanket. Bokuto continued to dance around the kitchen, humming to himself while he worked. The atmosphere in the apartment was oddly comfortable, as though Bokuto belonged there.

Akaashi eventually braved questioning Bokuto on the reason he was currently destroying his kitchen. The answer was pancakes. Apparently one of the members of Bokuto’s team had taught him to make fluffy pancakes, and Bokuto wanted to make them for Akaashi, even when he informed Bokuto pancakes were not very Japanese. Not that Akaashi would ever turn down food.

For the first time in weeks, Akaashi’s apartment felt like a home. The lingering loneliness had been chased away by Bokuto’s exuberance and cheer, and Akaashi found himself dozing off.

“Oh yeah!” Bokuto suddenly said. He flipped a fluffy pancake onto the small growing stack beside the burner. “Kuroo invited us over for a hot pot party next weekend. Kenma wanted to see you again.”

Akaashi’s eyes shot open.  _ Oh no. _

\--

“Thank you for having me,” Akaashi greeted Kuroo when he and Bokuto stepped into the cluttered apartment in Ni-chome. He’d never been there before. Outside a the few social gatherings he attended at Bokuto’s insistence, he rarely saw Kenma or Kuroo, which was a shame because he enjoyed Kenma’s quiet company. Unfortunately, the timid gamer was nowhere in sight.

The apartment itself was chaos. Stacks of manga and games flanked the couch and entertainment unit, clothes were flung over various pieces of furniture, empty take-way bentos littered the apartment, and a strange anime with scantily clad girls was muted on the impressive TV.

Gathered around the small desk in the corner was evidence of Kenma’s profession as a mangaka: blank paper, pencils, markers, rulers, and miniature figure models. Most remained localized around the desk, though bits and pieces had invaded other areas of the apartment. 

The manga had been on Akaashi’s to read list for a number of years, but between classes, work, and his relationship, he never found the time to sit down and read through the long running shoujo manga.  _ Perhaps now I will have the time. _

For a hot pot party, the apartment was suspiciously devoid of guests. A space had been cleared around the kotatsu in the centre of the main room, and there were blankets on the couch where Bokuto had previously been sleeping while he stayed with Kuroo and Kenma. That is until he made himself at home at Akaashi’s for the week. Bokuto had become a permanent fixture in Akaashi’s life, and bed, as he refused to leave Akaashi alone for any extended period of time.

A door, that likely lead to the bedroom, was open a crack. Akaashi didn’t even want to begin to imagine the chaos hidden beyond it.  _ There’s only one bedroom.  _

Akaashi was tempted to comment on the peculiarity, but instead said “Your home is a mess.”

Bokuto squawked beside him, but Kuroo threw back his head and laughed. “God, I forgot how blunt you are,” Kuroo said. “Kenma just wrapped up his latest chapter, past the deadline of course, and I’ve been busy with my classes. We haven’t really had time to be fully human. It’s still better than during finals or a double issue.”

Akaashi grimaced at the mere hint that the apartment could be worse condition. Perhaps he’d do dishes later.

“Man, I love Kenma’s manga!” Bokuto exclaimed. He kicked off his shoes and bounded into the apartment in his socks, diving under the kotatsu’s thick quilt. “That part with the pie was so funny that I cried manly tears.”

“Oya?” Kuroo said, still eyeing Akaashi, but slowly retreated into the apartment.

There were no guest slippers provided. Kuroo wasn’t even wearing any himself, only a pair of white socks along with a pair of stylishly ripped pair of grey skinnies and a black sweater. 

Tearing his eyes away from the way Kuroo’s sweater clung to his sculpted body, Akaashi stepped up out of his shoes and neatly tucked them to the side of the genkan. He even took a second to tidy the mess Bokuto had left.

“Kenma’s doing great! There’s talk of an anime,” Kuroo boasted. The pride in his voice was difficult to miss as he clicked off the muted TV and waved Akaashi over. “It’s a shame he writes under a pen name. He deserves recognition, but he’s never been one for the spotlight.”

Not wanting to appear rude, Akaashi shuffled further into the apartment and tucked himself under the quilt of the kotatsu next to Bokuto. A huge grin stretched over his senpai’s face, and a heavy arm landed on his shoulders.

“Hey, hey, Keiji,” Bokuto boomed. “You look cold.”

Akaashi shivered, only then noticing the chilly temperature in juxtaposition to Bokuto’s body heat pressed tightly to his side. “It’s freezing in here.”

“Ah hah, yeah,” Kuroo said, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. He plopped onto the floor and leaned back against the couch. “Turning on the heat is a bit... expensive, ya know? And Kenma’s the only one with a job.”

Bokuto nodded along with absolute and sincere acceptance. Logically, with a hugely popular monthly manga, Kenma had to be making decent money. It was probably Kuroo’s pride that wouldn’t allow Kenma to pay the bills or rent alone. He’d always had a bit of a complex when it came to his childhood friend, always needing to be the one that Kenma could rely on.

“So... Keiji, eh?” Kuroo wiggled his eyebrows at the pair. “When did that happen?”

Akaashi scowled at the pain in the ass smirking gleefully at him from across the kotatsu, and was thankfully saved.

Kenma wandered into the room dressed in a pair of shorts that Akaashi could barely see peeking out from hem of one of Kuroo’s sweaters that swallowed Kenma’s tiny frame. He navigated the various obstacles of the room without glancing up as he clicked away at his ever present handheld. His dark hair tipped with remnants of blond was clipped back in a short ponytail with bangs still framing his face to give him a narrow field of vision as he was most comfortable with. It was a different look than Akaashi was familiar with, and dare he think  _ cute.  _

“Kuro?” Kenma said. His voice was always surprisingly deep, but the way he called Kuroo’s name was soft and sweet.

A knowing smirk lit Kuroo’s face. “Yes, kitten?” he said, tilting his head back against the couch to look up at Kenma.

Kenma stopped beside Kuroo’s hidden legs. “It’s cold.”

“Perhaps clothes,” Akaashi mumbled under his breath. He tried not to stare. 

“Huh?” Bokuto leaned in to hear Akaashi. 

Kuroo sat forward and tugged back the quilt, which allowed Kenma to settle between Kuroo’s legs and lean back against his chest. The quilt was quickly pulled over their laps, and Kuroo leaned back against the edge of the couch, carefully guiding Kenma back with him without a single disruption to his game. 

“Nothing, Bokuto-san,” Akaashi said. He watched the entire well-rehearsed dance with mild interest; Bokuto’s weight still draped over his body. 

Kuroo and Kenma fit together well; two halves that made a perfect whole. The unpleasant curl of envy that seized him stunned Akaashi, and he tore his gaze away from the contently cuddling childhood friends. His relationship with Suzumeda couldn’t compare. It wasn’t even in the same hemisphere. 

Kuroo smirked at Akaashi, that familiar, knowing gleam in his eyes, and rested his chin on Kenma’s head.

Bokuto rambled on about how much meat he was going to eat while Kuroo stared Akaashi down. Bokuto’s volume increased exponentially with his growing excitement, and his voice reverberated through the room.

“Koutarou,” Kenma’s soft voice called. “Volume.”

“Oh, right,” Bokuto said in a guilty hush, but quickly perked up. “Hey, Kenma. Can we watch a movie. Can we? Can we?”

Kenma continued to play as Bokuto abandoned Akaashi and crept across the floor on his hands and knees, desperately trying to garner Kenma’s attention. Brow rapidly furrowing, Kenma ground his teeth, pointedly ignoring him while Kuroo grinned, too amused to lift a finger to help.

“Bokuto-san, perhaps you shouldn’t-” Akaashi tried.

“Kenma! Kenma!”

“You’re annoying,” Kenma finally snapped. But his fingers clicked away at his game.

Bokuto visibly deflated and slunk back to Akaashi’s side, quickly devolving into a stage of melancholy. He threw himself at Akaashi for comfort. “Akaaaaashi.”

“Don’t whine, Bokuto-san,” Akaashi said. “It’s unattractive.”

Bokuto let out a high keen and slumped over. “Bro?”

“Sorry, man. My arms are a little full here,” Kuroo said with no real hint of remorse. His arms tightened around Kenma’s tiny waist.

Bokuto wailed in defeat and flopped over, head landing in Akaashi’s lap, and the former Nekoma captain laughed while Akaashi sighed yet again.  _ Some things never change. _

 

The apartment was bursting with people, party in full swing. Well, not quite. There were three extra bodies squished around the kotatsu. Akaashi was wedged between Bokuto and Tsukishima Kei, the former blocker from Karasuno that Kuroo had taken under his wing during their first Tokyo training camp.

The night had kicked off with Yaku Morisuke wandering through the front door with several bottles of premium sake, and soon after, Yamamoto Taketora burst in with a victory cry and beer, which only spurred Bokuto into action. Neither of the former Nekoma players had bothered to knock on the door. Instead, they simply let themselves in.

Eventually, Tsukishima had sauntered in an hour late with a small cake, unconcerned by his apparent tardiness, and taken a seat between the two calmest parties at the table. Akaashi, and Kuroo, who had not moved due to the body in his lap. 

Akaashi wasn’t entirely sure how Kuroo had managed to convince Tsukishima to grace the party with his presence, but he wouldn’t put it past the ‘scheming captain’ to have a little dirt on Tsukishima. It was strange to see the younger man without his timid little friend glued to his side, but last Akaashi heard, Yamaguchi was attending University back home in Miyagi with Noya and the baldy from Karasuno. 

Tsukishima had filled out. He had a little more mass and muscle definition to him, no longer the awkward, gangly teenager Akaashi knew from their practise matches all those years ago. Of course, Tsukishima still played. Most of them did in some capacity, not including Kenma. The little pudge he sported around his belly that Kuroo called adorable was proof of that.

Akaashi often debated joining the neighbourhood association team. In the past, he could never relate to the housewives who turned to burn their children with cigarettes to escape the isolation they felt in the large metropolis of Tokyo, and while he liked to believe he would never hurt anyone, he could related to the all consuming loneliness that crept in and made itself at him. The hollow emptiness was difficult to ignore.

The temperature of the tiny apartment had risen several degrees from the excess body heat from the mass of people crammed around the sukiyaki hot pot simmering on the little single element burner on the kotatsu. Akaashi’s personal heat source came directly from Bokuto draped over him as he leaned around him to shout excitedly at Tsukishima.

Bokuto had not left Akaashi’s side the entire evening. He was always there with an arm casually slung around his shoulder or stealing slices of meat to feed Akaashi. 

The lovely flush on Akaashi’s cheeks wasn’t from the amount of sake he’d drunk. The amount didn’t even come close to how much he’d consumed at the bar a few nights ago. But his eyes still felt heavy with fatigue. Sharing a bed with Bokuto for the last three nights was proving to be rather distracting.

Kenma was still safely nestled in Kuroo’s lap beside Tsukishima, occasionally opening his mouth for Kuroo to feed him, but the tension lines between his eyes were growing, and his hands visibly trembled.

“Yo-hoo!” Called an unfamiliar voice from the front door, but Akaashi certainly recognized the man that stepped into the apartment. “I hope you didn’t start the party without me, Tetsu-chan.”

Oikawa Tooru, former star setter of Aoba Josai, walked into Kuroo and Kenma’s apartment and flashed a peace sign. Behind him, Iwaizumi Hajime scowled at the back of his best friend’s head. Unlike Oikawa’s trim form, Iwaizumi was a wall of solid muscle despite being slightly shorter.

Akaashi’s jaw fell slack, but he covered it with a yawn.  _ His arms are thicker than Bokuto-san’s. _

“Shut up, Shittykawa,” Iwaizumi grunted, smacking his best friend up the back of the head as he passed him. “We’re late because you couldn’t decide between two blue sweaters.”

“Eh? Iwa-chan is mean,” Oikawa pouted and tugged at the front his overlarge knitted sweater. “This one is teal. The other was aquamarine. They’re completely different.”

Iwaizumi snorted and squished in between Yamamoto and Bokuto, grabbing a pair of chopsticks to help himself. “We brought more meat, which we can eat if his royal pain in the ass ever sits down.”

“So mean!” Oikawa wailed, and threw himself at Tsukishima, who knocked shoulders violently with Akaashi under the strain of supporting the extra weight.

“Get off,” Tsukishima muttered, and fixed his glasses in annoyance.

Akaashi had never had the fortune - or misfortune depending on who was asked - to meet the infamous Oikawa Tooru. On a number of occasions, he’d overheard Hinata excitedly chatter away about the ‘Grand King’ with Bokuto or Kenma. Akaashi was so incredibly out of touch with their circle of friends that he hadn’t even been aware Kuroo had befriended the pair of Aoba Josai alumni. His hand tightened around the little cup of sake in his hand before throwing it back in one gulp. He could feel Bokuto’s eyes on him, and the arm across his shoulders momentarily squeezed.

“I’m fine, Bokuto-san,” Akaashi murmured.

“Oh yeah,” Yaku suddenly said over the chatter. “Lev said he’d drop by after his shift.”

For the first time that evening, Kenma stopped playing. His face twisted into an expression of absolute horror and disgust, and the entire room howled with laughter. Even Akaashi snickered quietly into a closed fist. 

“I can’t see,” Kuroo whined, trying to twist around Kenma’s body to catch a peek at Kenma’s face. “Not fair. I want to see. Come on. Look at me, Kenma.”

Still laughing, Yaku leaned over the simmering hot pot, and refilled Akaashi’s choko.

“Oh, oh, oh! Me too!” Oikawa thrust his own choko towards Yaku to be filled. “Thank you, Ya-chan!” he said, tipping back his drink with an obnoxious smack of his lips. “You know what we need? Music?”

Akaashi’s forehead smacked Bokuto in the cheek. Oikawa had used Tsukishima’s shoulder to stand, knocking the younger man into Akaashi yet again. Akaashi laid no blame on Tsukishima, but he was beginning to understand his distaste for Oikawa.

“Oi, Shittykawa. Quit being annoying,” Iwaizumi said. He tried to catch Oikawa by the ankle, but Oikawa slipped out of his grip by hopping on one foot across the room to the stereo.

“Wait! Tooru, don’t!” Kuroo reached out for Oikawa, but trapped under a rather amused Kenma, it was a useless gesture as the stereo was flipped on.

The speakers blared to life, but opposed to the anticipated screech of guitars or the pound of bass, the gathered party was treated to the soft sultry sounds of enka. For a moment, everyone was silent and all eyes turned to Kuroo, whose face was slowly turning red.

“Enka?” Tsukishima finally said with a huge smirk on his face. “Really?”

Kuroo huffed. “Where’s your Japanese pride?”

“But enka?” Yaku said. Beside him, Yamamoto had collapsed onto the floor, clutching his gut as he howled with laughter.

“It’s not mine,” Kuroo muttered. He hugged Kenma around the middle and buried his face in his best friend’s shoulder.

“Are you insinuating that awful noise belongs to me?” Kenma said dully, focus still on the game in his hands, but a faint smile had curled the corner of his mouth.

The entire party lost their minds. Iwaizumi even offered Kenma a high five, and to everyone’s delight, the shy gamer accepted it with a tentative smack of his palm against the larger hand. It was enough for Kuroo to raise his head and grin.

The deep rumble of Bokuto’s teasing voice mocking Kuroo and congratulating Kenma sent small shivers down Akaashi’s spine. A gentle warm swelled in his chest as he watched his friends and close acquaintances laugh and joke around him. For once, his life didn’t feel quite so hopeless.

  
  


Several choko of sake later, Akaashi felt deliciously warm and sleepy with his belly comfortably full of meat and vegetables. His cheeks were flushed and his eyes a little glassy. The sake had gone straight to his head, and he wasn’t the only one. Yamamoto was passed out on the floor, and Oikawa was doodling on his face with a marker under Yaku’s supervision.

A little lightheaded, Akaashi leaned into the warmth surrounding him with a soft sigh.

“Keiji?” said Bokuto’s worried voice in his ear.

“M’tired,” Akaashi murmured. His eyes felt heavy, so he let them flutter close.

“Eh? Did Owl-kun find himself a pretty boyfriend?” Oikawa chirped a little too close for comfort. 

“That’s Akaashi,” Yaku said. His speech was heavily slurred. He and Yamamoto had been hitting the bottle pretty hard, but for someone so tiny, Yaku was infinitely better at holding his liquor than his kouhai

“The famous Akaashi-kun, hmmm?” Oikawa said a little too slyly. “We haven’t been properly introduced.”

Akaashi groaned, instinctively pressing further into Bokuto’s side. “Kou-san...” he murmured. His stomach protested with a small gurgle. 

“Kenma says you can stick him in his futon,” Kuroo’s voice called from across the room, ever dutiful in conveying Kenma’s wishes to the world.  

It was easy to picture Kenma tugging on Kuroo’s sleeve and whispering instruction in his ear. Kuroo likely hadn’t moved with Kenma in his lap, but his voice sounded so distant, like the room had suddenly stretched to the length of a soccer field.

Suddenly, Akaashi was being hauled to his feet. He stumbled against Bokuto, stomach protesting, and his senpai half carried him away from the party and into the bedroom. The noise of the party faded away.

The bedroom was as small as expected. The floor was tatami, but rather than the suspected single large bed, there were two messy futons side by side in the middle of the room that Kuroo and Kenma hadn’t even bothered to fold away in the morning.

Strong arms lowered Akaashi onto one of the futons, and blankets were tucked around him, bundling him against the chill. He groaned, pressing his face into the pillow. It smelled like Kenma’s shampoo and Kuroo’s cologne. 

“So cold,” Akaashi mumbled. In the morning, he’d be angry with himself, but for now, he battled his way out of the tight cocoon and tugged at Bokuto’s sleeve. 

The blankets lifted off Akaashi for a few seconds, and immediate warmth surrounded him as Bokuto slid into the futon behind him. The same strong arms that had carried him wrapped around his slender body, hugging him loosely as Bokuto buried his nose in Akaashi’s shoulder. 

“Keiji, please be happy,” Bokuto’s gruff voice whispered in his ear, and Akaashi nearly cried at the heavy sadness carried in such a simple phrase.

\--

For the third time that week, Akaashi woke up in an empty room. Only this time, it wasn’t his room. 

Since Bokuto had taken it upon himself to be Akaashi’s companion, he’d come to accept a little chaos in his life. Often, he’d wake in the morning to find Bokuto drooling on his pillow or their fingers linked. An arm slung around his waist was nothing out of the ordinary.

But the bedroom was empty. He vaguely recalled Kenma ushering a rather tipsy Kuroo into the other futon sometime in the night, and Bokuto had eventually returned to share futon again after leaving at some point. Bokuto must have rejoined the party after Akaashi fell asleep. He felt selfish for monopolizing his time when it was so limited during his short stay in Tokyo.

The main living area of the apartment was chaotic. Moreso than when Akaashi had first arrived last night.

On the couch, Oikawa and Iwaizumi were a tangled mess of limbs. Oikawa was sprawled over Iwaizumi and a protective arm was curled around Oikawa’s waist. The image offered a very strange, but intimate snapshot of their friendship.

Still passed out on the floor, Yamamoto was tucked under the kotatsu and drooling on the hardwood. His face was covered in doodles, no doubt thanks to Oikawa, Yaku, and Bokuto, but Yaku was currently using his stomach as a pillow while he texted and chatted quietly with Kenma, who was seated at the kotatsu sipping a steaming cup of tea.

Bokuto and Kuroo fought over a spatula in the kitchen, but the apartment smelled amazing, so nothing was in danger of burning yet. Akaashi rolled his eyes and shuffled over to the kotatsu and took a seat across from Kenma. 

Tsukishima was nowhere to be found.

“Good morning, Kenma. Yaku-san,” Akaashi greet with a small nod. Kenma’s sharp golden eyes peered into his very soul from across the table, and Akaashi swallowed. Escaping to the kitchen to help make breakfast seemed appealing, if only to escape the one and only person he truly feared being analyzed by.

“They don’t need help,” Kenma said suddenly as he poured a cup of tea for Akaashi.

Akaashi feigned innocence. “Who?”

Kenma raised an eyebrow and pushed the steaming cup to Akaashi. “Kuro and Koutarou.”

“I see.” Akaashi sipped his tea, trying to appear unaffected. “Never thought they did.”

Kenma’s hands curled around his own cup. “Of course not.”

Akaashi nearly leapt out of his skin when a deep voice to his left suddenly said “You look like you slept much better than I did.”

“Iwaizumi-san, I did not realize you were awake. Can you breathe under there?” Akaashi asked. Iwaizumi was trapped under Oikawa’s taller frame, and despite Iwaizumi’s impressive bulk, it couldn’t be comfortable.

“I’m used to it,” Iwaizumi grunted, to which Kenma snorted. “Wouldn’t sit right with me to set him on the rest of the unsuspecting world without reigning him in a little.” His bicep flexed as his arm around Oikawa’s waist tightened.

“A handful then?” Akaashi asked. He didn’t know either of the former Aoba Josai players. They’d never crossed paths in the academic or sports world, but he could recall Karasuno’s ‘scary setter’ discussing him at training camp once or twice. 

Apparently Oikawa was a formidable opponent, but his personality was questionable. Akaashi had yet to see evidence of that beyond slightly whiny, but he could see the shrewd intelligence behind the snarky persona.

“You would understand a little something about that, wouldn’t you, Keiji” Kenma said, and calmly sipped his tea.

Akaashi’s attention flickered to the kitchen where Kuroo had Bokuto in a headlock. The duo seemed to have forgotten they were making breakfast in favour of shoving ice cubes down the back each others pants.

“And you don’t?” Akaashi raised an eyebrow at the quiet gamer.

Kenma only smiled and picked up his handheld. “It’s good to see you, Keiji.”

**Author's Note:**

> You can follow me on tumblr at [inCatHoots](http://incathoots.tumblr.com/)
> 
>  
> 
> I've never written in the Haikyuu!! fandom before. Hope I don't butcher the characters too badly.


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